


chasing hearses

by knameless



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Gen, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Slayer(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13700580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knameless/pseuds/knameless
Summary: Frank’s always thought it was funny how all these band dudes tend to look more like vampires than the real thing.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> for mac.

Frank tips back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto the table, twirling a wooden stake between his fingers. He puts his dirty Chucks right in the middle of Mikey’s stack of papers, so Mikey grabs his ankle and pushes it off, causing Frank to hurriedly slam his feet flat on the floor so as not to tip over backwards. 

“Asshole,” Frank says.

“You’re the asshole,” Mikey replies, and pushes his glasses up with a finger, eyes glued to his laptop. Frank fishes a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jeans, and lights one for himself before holding a second out to Mikey as a peace offering. Mikey accepts, and they smoke in silence for a few minutes, the only sound between them being the clicking of Mikey’s fingers on the keyboard. 

“Hey,” Mikey says after a while. “I think I got something.”

Frank stubs his cigarette out on the table like an asshole and scoots his chair over to Mikey, hunching forward to peer at the bluish light of the screen. Mikey watches Frank’s eyes flick back and forth as he reads the article, and after a minute, he sits back in his chair and stretches his arms over his head. 

“Looks like something to me.”

Mikey blinks slowly. “I’ll call Ray and Gee and tell them to fill up the tank on the way back.”

Frank lights a second cigarette. “Tell Gerard to bring back a can of Pringles while they’re at it.”

\--

“How many you thinkin’?” Ray asks, sitting down on the bed and pulling his boots off. 

Mikey shrugs. “Probably just one.” Nests are usually out in less populated areas, where there’s less risk of being found. When stuff’s happening in an urban area, nine times out of ten it’s a loner trying to sneak by under the radar-- and it usually works pretty well for them, until they get greedy and start taking more than they need. And they always, always get greedy eventually. 

“Alright,” Ray says. “Sounds like this should be a pretty easy job, then.”

Gerard speaks up from where’s he’s curled up with a notebook in the corner chair, his lank black hair falling in his eyes. “No job is ever as easy as we think it’ll be,” he grunts. 

Frank throws a Pringle at him. “Shut up, you’re so dramatic. We always turn out fine.”

“I’m not being dramatic!” Gerard says dramatically, sitting up straight and pointing an indignant finger at Frank. “Or did you forget about how you ended up with _three_ broken ribs in Chicago?”

Frank waves him off. “Oh, c'mon, that was nothing. I’m indestructible, man. Unkillable.”

“First time for everything,” Gerard says darkly. Frank rolls his eyes and shoves another handful of chips in his mouth.

\--

Mikey manages to hack into the local P.D.’s database on the first day they roll into town, because that kid is a goddamn wizard with a laptop and they'd be totally lost without him. Gerard peers over his shoulder as Mikey flicks through various files, opening and closing some so quickly that Gerard can’t believe he’s even reading them at all, all the while bitching about how shitty the internet is at this motel.

Then Mikey finally finds what he’s looking for, and a photo flashes up on the screen-- Gerard thinks it’s a little sick how the autopsy pictures don’t even phase him that badly anymore. By now, he’s seen things far worse in person. 

The girl’s face is blank, her filmy eyes staring at nothing. The black stitching across her chest is hard to pick out against the tattoos covering her torso. If it wasn’t for the sickly whiteness of her eyes, she might almost look peaceful, like she was meditating or something-- but the illusion is shattered by the jagged, ugly gash across her throat, sutured up by the coroner but still unmistakably horrific. 

“Sarah Wozniak,” Mikey says. “She was twenty-three. The cops found her body in an alleyway on top of a pile of garbage bags. Couple bruises but no major injuries, except for, you know, her entire neck area.” He coughs slightly, then continues, “C.O.D. was-- surprise-- blood loss.”

Gerard clears his throat. “And the others?”

“Gimme a second.” Mikey taps away on his computer before saying, “Yeah, there’s six of them altogether in the past month or so. Four chicks, two dudes. All found in this neighborhood. All with their throats ripped out.”

Gerard rubs his eyes. “Let’s hope we can get our shit together before it’s seven.”


	2. ii

The bass vibrates through the entire room, making Frank’s spine throb in time. The opening band is alright, pretty thrashy and hardcore. It kind of reminds Frank of some of the bands he used to go see at basement shows when he was in college. Frank doesn’t let himself pay too much attention, though, his gaze roving around the room, carefully keeping an eye open for anything that sticks out, anything that can help them with the case.

They’d all been doing quite a lot of digging during the two days they’d been in town, and so far figured out that the victims all had something in common-- every one of them had been to a show at this shitty local venue the night they’d gotten killed. 

Now that could mean nothing-- or it could mean something, and they gotta follow any lead they can get. So hanging around at the shitty local venue it is.

Frank glances over at Gerard, hovering around the bar. He’s got that ugly giant black coat of his on even though it’s practically plus ninety in this cramped fucking room, and he’s wearing his sunglasses indoors like a douche. 

Gerard catches Frank’s eye and gives him a thumbs-up with one hand and an O.K. sign with the other. Frank nods in acknowledgment, and turns his gaze back to the stage, where the next band is setting up their equipment. 

Their frontman is a typical jet-black-hair, snow-white-skin type. Lots of eye makeup, all-black outfit. Frank’s always thought it was funny how all these alternative band dudes tend to look more like vampires than the real thing. 

The singer takes the mic and says something meaningless about the name of the band and being thankful for everyone here tonight and are you ready to fucking rock!? Yawn. But then the first chord plays and the singer lets out a bloodcurdling screech and Frank is surprised by how good they actually end up sounding. 

He actually has to tear his eyes away from the stage a couple times during their set, remind himself that he's here on a case, no matter how much he wants to throw himself into the pit. And _man_ is there a pit, this frontman seriously knows how to get a crowd excited. He's shaking his long black hair and bouncing around the stage and twice he even jumps into the crowd. Fuck, Frank’s always wanted to be in a band like that. He’s basically living the touring life right now, after all, only it’s all long drives and rest stops with no champagne or adoring groupies.

Frank’s actually disappointed when the set comes to an end. Maybe he should pick up one of the band’s cassettes; he's always looking for new shit to play in the van while they're on the road. 

As Frank pushes off the wall and goes to hunt for the other guys, he thinks that at least this night wasn't a total waste of time.

\--

“Dude, what’s are these guys called again?” Ray asks his new friend, Steve the guitar tech.

“They're Ice Hand! Isn't Jonny great?” 

“Yeah!” Ray enthuses. “They really know how to put on a show! Wish I’d heard of them before!”

“They’ll be huge one day,” Steve the guitar tech beams, “I’m talkin’ sold-out arenas full of goth kids. I just know it, you know? As soon as they get signed.”

Ray nods. “They on tour right now?”

Steve the guitar tech shakes his head. “Nah. They’re local; they play here a couple times a month. I think they’re covering next weekend too.”

“Guess we’re lucky to be in town right now then, huh?” Gerard says, appearing from nowhere. 

“Oh! Hi, Gerard,” Ray says. “Gerard, this is Steve the guitar tech. Steve the guitar tech, this is Gerard.” Gerard waves a hand and Steve the guitar tech raises his beer in salute. 

“You like the show?” Steve the guitar tech asks. 

“It was pretty good,” Gerard says. 

“Pretty good?” Ray exclaims. “Pretty fucking incredible!”

A girl with red hair pops up and grabs Steve the guitar tech’s arm. “We talking about Ice Hand?” she interrupts, grinning.

“Hell yeah,” Steve the guitar tech hoots, “Best band in town, baby!”

The woman laughs. “I’m Shannon,” she says to Ray and Gerard, sticking out her hand, “I tend bar.”

They both shake her hand and introduce themselves, and then they chat with Steve and Shannon for a while about Bruce Springsteen and the importance of small venues and what the worst kinds of people who come to shows are.

“One time,” Shannon crows, “this guy climbed onstage-- this was during an Ice Hand show, actually-- and he literally tried to fight Jonny, but Jonny just kicked the guy-- and you know Jonny’s always got these huge black boots on-- and dude fell off the stage! And the whole time, Jonny never stopped singing or even missed a fuckin’ note!”

“This Jonny guy is a badass!” Ray exclaims, suitably amazed.

“Yeah,” Steve the guitar tech says, nodding. “He’s like a man of mystery type, you know? Real hard to get ahold of.”

Shannon snorts. “He’s a total ghoul! Never leaves his fuckin’ house except for shows.”

“Sleep all day, party all night, am I right?” Steve the guitar tech laughs. 

Ray laughs too, and then Gerard says, “Speaking of sleep-- Ray, we should probably get going, right?”

“But--” Ray pauses as Gerard shoots him a furtive look. “Yeah, we should,” he says, trying not to let his disappointment show. They say their goodbyes to Shannon and Steve the guitar tech, and then Ray lets Gerard drag him off to try and find Frank and Mikey.

“Did you hear that?” Gerard hisses, grabbing Ray’s elbow as they walk away. 

Ray scoffs. “Oh, what, the guy sleeps a lot? Come on, we could diagnose _you_ with vampirism based off of that.” 

“I’m just saying!” 

Ray rolls his eyes. “Let’s wait for some more concrete evidence, alright?”

“Fine,” Gerard says, sounding only slightly bitchy.

\--

They find Frank and Mikey hanging around the bar, looking bored. 

“You find out anything?” Frank asks hopefully, and Ray and Gerard shake their heads. Frank sighs. “Yeah, neither did we.”

“Gerard thinks Jonny’s the vamp,” Ray says, and Gerard gives him a dirty look. 

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility. I get this vibe off him, man. Vampire vibe.” Gerard folds his arms over his chest. 

“No,” Mikey says slowly, “I kind of get what you mean. I mean the way that some of the people in the crowd were acting… so many of them seemed _desperate_ to get onstage. Could be vamp magnetism, you know?”

Gerard nods. “Makes you want to get near them, so they can strike.” Some of the older vamps can do serious hypnosis, like full on mind control, but all vamps have this kind of _draw_ to them. They can look you in the eye a certain way and before you know it you’re wondering why on Earth you aren’t all over them right this second. You’re an easier kill if you don’t want to run away. 

It had happened to Gerard, once, back when he was fresh. A pretty girl at a bar that he and Mikey’d been staking out had stared him down for a few seconds, and he before he even realized what was happening, he got hooked. He’d felt like he was in a fog, or like he’d had a little too much to drink, and he just had the urge to follow this chick wherever she wanted to go. Gerard had come close to dying that night. He knows firsthand what vamp magnetism could do to you. 

“But how do you know he’s not just a charismatic guy?” Frank points out. “I mean, he’s the lead singer in a rock band. Might be vamp magnetism, yeah, but might just be frontman magnetism.”

Gerard raises his hands in defense. “Listen, I’m just telling you what I felt.” 

They all stand there for a second before Frank says, “Right, I gotta pee before we go. Anyone else?”

“I’ll come with you,” Gerard offers with a sigh.

While Frank goes in, Gerard leans up against the wall outside the bathroom and picks at the chipped black polish on his nails. Gerard can't stand going in venue bathrooms himself; he's thrown up in too many of them.

Frank bangs open the door of the bathroom after a minute and Gerard pushes off the wall. They start weaving their way through the crowd, when suddenly there’s a loud shattering sound, and a scream, and Gerard whirls around to see that some kind of fight has broken out between two guys. There are a couple of strong-looking dudes already swarming around the guy who seems to have started it, shoving him back and yelling for security, and Gerard can see glints of broken glass scattered across the floor, and the other guy is on the ground, half-curled into a ball, and he’s holding a hand over the lower half of his face but there’s blood flowing through his fingers and dripping onto his shirt, staining the white fabric a deep, violent red. 

Gerard slowly looks up and to his shock his gaze happens to land on Jonny, standing across the room, his eyes fixed on the man on the floor. Jonny has a strange look on his face, and a chill goes down Gerard’s spine, making him grab Frank's arm reflexively. 

Gerard knows that look. He knows it because it’s been on the face of every vampire he’s ever seen right before it fed. It’s a hungry look, an animal look, and it’s one that every vampire hunter has learned to identify, because sometimes being able to recognize it can mean the difference between life and death. Gerard _knows_ this look. 

The crowd of people shifts as security shoves through, and Jonny is blocked from Gerard’s line of sight; when Gerard stands on his tiptoes and tries to find him again, the guy has disappeared. Gerard shivers. 

Then Gerard turns to look at Frank, and he knows from the expression on Frank's face alone that he just saw the exact same thing Gerard did.

Gerard raises his eyebrows. Frank nods grimly, and the two of them hurry back to the bar to find the others.

\--

_“What?”_

“Dude, I’m dead serious this time,” Gerard says in a low voice. “I saw it. There was blood, and he was staring at it, and I swear to God, he had the look on his face. You know the fucking look I mean. He was fucking _hungry_.”

“He's right,” Frank says earnestly. “I saw it too, man. He had the _look_.”

“You really think it’s Jonny?” Ray asks. 

“Yeah,” Gerard says, “I do.” He pushes his hair back from his forehead with a hand. “It’s him.”

There’s another long pause. “Aw, man,” Ray says, looking sad. “But the band is so good.”

Frank gives him a look. “Dude, he killed half a dozen people in a month.”

The crestfallen look doesn’t leave Ray’s face. “I even got one of their tapes.”

Gerard sighs and pats Ray’s shoulder. “It’s always disappointing when our favorite celebrities turn out to be bloodthirsty killing machines.”

“That’s why they always say you should never meet your idols,” adds Frank.

\--

Mikey and Ray come back to the venue a couple nights later, while Frank and Gerard hang out at the motel and work on some more research.

They've been trying to chat up anyone they can find who might possibly have something on Jonny, but so far they haven't had any luck at all. No one knows where his house is or where he's originally from. No one knows how old he is. No one even seems to know the guy's last name.

Ray is feeling fed up and just about ready to suggest that they go back to the motel and reconsider their plans, when Ray’s friend Steve the guitar tech pops up out of nowhere with a giant grin slapped across his face, and drags the two of them backstage. So now Ray and Mikey are kicking around in the back room having some beers with the crew and trying to learn anything that they can about Ice Hand. 

They’ve been there for about half an hour when Ray hears someone cheer, and his heart leaps in his chest as he looks up to find that Jonny himself has just appeared in the doorway, with the drummer from his band (Ray can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of him) standing a step behind. 

“Jonny!” Steve the guitar tech says joyously. “You showed up!”

“You know me, can’t keep me away from this place! It’s where all the action is!” Jonny says with a grin. He nods at Ray and Mikey, sitting on the couch. “Hello down there.”

Ray stands up. “Hi, I’m Ray, this is my friend Mikey,” he says, and offers his hand with a hopefully-charming smile. Mikey is too cool for that and stays sprawled on the couch, opting to simply raise his beer in greeting. 

“Good to meet you!” Jonny enthuses, and shakes Ray’s hand. His skin is ice cold; Ray resists the urge to recoil. Jonny jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the drummer. “The talkative guy is Eric. Great show, huh?” he says, and then goes and jumps into the lap of some guy on the couch, making the dude shout angrily about spilling his drink while Jonny cackles, and Ray is left standing next to the drummer.

“So, you guys from around here?” Ray tries, putting on his friendliest face.

The drummer shrugs and takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Pretty much.”

“Been playing together long?” Ray tries.

The drummer shrugs again, grunting, “Guess so.”

Ray nods, biting the inside of his cheek. Great. This is going great. “That’s cool,” he says. The drummer blinks slowly at Ray, and then without a word pushes past him to go talk to some dude on the other side of the room. 

Ray passes a hand across his forehead, and turns around to immediately find Jonny on the couch, absolutely cracking up at something Mikey has just said.

“Man!” Jonny wheezes, “You're hilarious, dude, I fucking love you!” Mikey sips his drink nonchalantly as Jonny slings a lanky arm around his shoulder. At least Mikey is having some luck making friends, Ray thinks, and then he gets a little concerned because he remembers that Jonny is a vampire and him getting a littlr _too_ friendly with Mikey is maybe not a good thing. 

“Hey, there's a party happening tomorrow night,” Jonny says suddenly, a grin flashing across his face. “You guys should totally come. It'll be awesome!”

Ray blinks. A few days ago he would have jumped at the chance to party with this dude, but now, there's the whole vampire complication. He's opening his mouth to politely decline, but Mikey beats him to it and says, “Yeah, man, we're in town for a few more days, we can make it,” and then spends a couple minutes exchanging fucking cellphone numbers and getting the address of the party, which apparently is at the house of some chick named Jessica.

“Dude, what did you do?” Ray hisses once they've managed to extricate themselves and start heading back to the motel. 

Mikey gives him a look. “Are you kidding me? Dude invited us into his lair, we're not gonna let that opportunity slip through our fingers!”

“Did you forget about the whole 'he’s a vampire’ thing?” Ray asks. “What if he tries to attack us?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “He won't, dude, there's gonna be so many people there. Vamps don't strike at house parties, they strike in dimly lit alleyways, and, like, abandoned factories. This is a perfect opportunity to get closer to him and talk to people and get a better handle on what's happening.”

“Fine,” Ray says, holding up a finger, “but we are bringing stakes and holy water.”

\--

Frank yawns. “Dude, why are we even here?’

Gerard gives him a look. “Because we have to make sure no one gets murdered outside this venue tonight.”

“Jonny is like, light years away, man,” Frank protests, slumping in his seat. “You really think Mikey and Ray are gonna let him out of their line of sight?”

“Listen, we don't know Jonny's the vamp for sure,” Gerard cautions.

Frank stares at him. “Dude. You were the one who said he was the vamp in the first place. What are you, taking that back now?”

“No,” Gerard says uneasily, “I'm just saying that we don't know anything for sure until we've got a stake through the bastard's heart, and I'd like to be one hundred percent sure that we're staking the right guy.” He hesitates. “I don't know. I just got a weird feeling about this whole thing.”

Frank rolls his eyes. “I oughta get paid extra just to put up with your paranoia.”

“You don't get paid at all,” Gerard says with a smile.

“Don’t remind me,” Frank says, toasting Gerard. Gerard clinks his empty glass against Frank's, and then they sit in silence for a while, scoping out the floor.

After a long ass time of seeing fuck all, Frank stands up and stretches, cracking his back. “Look, nothing is happening here; I’m going out for a smoke,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

Gerard briefly looks tempted, but then shakes his head. “No, someone should stay inside to keep watch. Just in case.”

“Alright.” Frank shrugs and turns to go, but Gerard grabs his arm. 

“Wait!” he hisses, and rummages around in the pocket of his ugly coat. “Here, take this--” he hands Frank a little squeeze bottle, like the kind that eye drops come in. “Holy water. Just in case, man.” 

Frank rolls his eyes, pocketing the plastic bottle. “Dude, we’ve been over this. You worry way too much.”

Gerard flaps his hand at Frank. “Shut up, go take your fucking smoke break already.”

Outside, Frank leans up against a wall, turning his collar up to try and block the wind. His lighter takes a couple tries to get going, and he curses under his breath several times before he finally lights up.

As he smokes, he peers down the alleyway. It's almost completely silent, except for a few weak strains of music leaking out under the crack of the venue door. 

It's dark as shit, but suddenly Frank notices a flash of movement at the end of the alley. Without thinking, he pushes off the wall and is halfway down the alleyway before it occurs to him that he maybe shouldn't start wandering alone through a neighborhood where six people have been cracked open and sucked dry in like a month.

Unfortunately, the exact moment Frank realizes this, something crashes into him, forcing him up against the wall and knocking the wind out of him.

Frank is so shocked he can't even scream, and for a moment he feels paralyzed as the thing crushes him heavily against the wall. But then he feels it press its face against his throat, wet, cold mouth opening and sharp teeth aching to rip him open, and Frank thinks, _Fuck. Oh fuck no._

He brings his leg up and kicks the thing in the shin as hard as he can, while grabbing its hair with his hand and yanking it violently back. Its grip loosens on him and Frank collapses to the ground. He knows he only has a few seconds before the thing will be on him again so he rips the little bottle of holy water out of his coat pocket and squeezes it at the exact moment that the thing reaches for him again.

It squeals as the holy water hits its skin, stumbling and tripping backwards in its haste to get away. Frank can see the steam from the water’s burn rising off of it in the cold night air. He clambers quickly to his feet, bracing his back against the wall, and squirts the bottle again. This time he aims for the face, and the thing makes another awful noise and scrambles away, running inhumanly fast down the alley until it disappears into the shadows, and then there’s nothing but silence, and Frank is alone in the alleyway.

Frank slumps against the wall, his ears ringing, heart pounding. “Fuck,” he pants. “Fucking shit.”

\--

“You're _sure_?” Ray asks for about the thousandth fucking time. 

“Yes, _Toro_ ,” Frank snaps. “It's kind of fucking hard to miss some freak of nature shoving you into a wall and trying to rip out your throat with its fucking teeth! It was a fucking vamp, Ray, it got burned by holy water.”

Ray rubs his forehead with a hand. “Sorry, sorry, it's just-- we were with Jonny all night, man, we never let him out of our sight once.”

“So then Jonny's not our fucking vamp!” Frank says exasperatedly. 

Gerard groans loudly. “But if Jonny's not the vamp, then we're back at square fucking one!”

There's a despondent silence in the motel room. 

“Great,” says Mikey.


	3. iii

They go back to the venue the next day, because they don't really know what else to do. It's Ice Hand’s final show here for the month, and Frank thinks that at least they can enjoy the band's music free of guilt now that they don't have to worry about driving a stake through the lead singer’s heart.

Frank half-heartedly watches the band run through sound check. Jonny fiddles with the mic stand. The guitarist (Benson or Brendan or something, Frank can't remember) plays a couple of chords. Where's their bassist-- the dude with the shaggy hair? Frank cranes his neck until he sees him off to the side of the stage, apparently in deep conversation with the drummer. As the bassist waves his hands around agitatedly, Frank notices his bright red fingerless gloves. Frank could use a pair of gloves like that. It’s starting to get seriously cold out, and he can’t press the little buttons on his phone’s keyboard with regular gloves on.

The drummer makes some kind of sharp gesture and hisses something at the bassist that Frank is way too far away to hear. As the bassist stalks away over to his amp, his gait seems unsteady and he almost loses his footing. 

Jonny sees it happen, and shoots the drummer a furtive sort of look, which is returned. The bassist slinks over to his spot and slings his bass over his shoulders, glaring at the floor.

Frank stares at the bassist for a couple seconds, taking in the gloves and the hair hanging over half his face. He glances over at Jonny again, and then at the drummer.

“Guys,” Frank says slowly, “It’s not Jonny.”

“We _know_ , Frank, we were with him all night--” Ray starts exasperatedly.

“No,” Frank interrupts. “I mean it’s not _just_ Jonny. It’s the whole fucking band.”

“What?” Gerard says.

“Look, look at their bass player, man-- he didn't have those gloves on any of the other times he played. And he's got a fucking limp. And he was just talking with their drummer, who seemed really fucking pissed off with him about something, and listen, I highly fucking doubt that a band's singer, bassist, and drummer are gonna be vampires without the guitarist being one too,” Frank finished in a hiss. “They're a fucking nest, guys. That's why there have been so many attacks, because there's so many of them to feed, and that's why I got jumped when you two were watching Jonny like a fucking hawk.”

There’s a grim silence for a few seconds, until Gerard breaks it. “Fuck,” he says. “Oh fuck. This is like quadruple the vampires we planned for.”

\--

The easy part is having Mikey sneak a tracker into the band’s van during the gig, and then, in the morning, following the signal until it stops on the outskirts of the city, right along the riverside.

“That’s the nest,” Mikey says, peering into the screen of his laptop. He pushes his glasses up with a skinny finger. “Gotta be.”

The hard part is everything after that. 

The four of them slowly roll up in front of the derelict building, as the cold sun shines down on its busted windows and crumbling bricks. The whole area along this part of the river seems to be a barren, industrial patch of the city, populated mostly by barbed wire fences, empty warehouses, and vacant lots. 

Ray kills the engine. “Ready?” he asks, craning his head to look behind him. 

“Abandoned factory,” Gerard sighs. “How typical.”

“They’re always so predictable,” Mikey agrees.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Ray grabs a stake from the cupholder and shrugs his jacket on.

Their sneakers crunch on the gravel in the lot outside the factory as the morning sun glares down, and all four of them tighten their grip on their weapons. The moments before you enter the lair are always the most nerve-wracking, because you still have a choice. You can turn around, climb into your car, and forget about the whole thing. But once you step over that threshold, you have to see the whole thing through to the bitter end.

\--

“Okay, we’ll split up,” Gerard whispers after they reach the first intersection in the building’s maze of halls. “Frank and Mikey, take the right-hand side. Ray and I will take the left. Yell if you get into trouble.” 

Frank and Mikey nod in unison. “Betcha we’ll rack up more kills than you,” Frank teases, before heading off down the right hallway with Mikey in tow.

Ray and Gerard look at each other. “I don’t know why everything’s gotta be a competition with Frank,” Ray grumbles.

“Are you just saying that because you think we’re gonna lose?”

“Of course not!” Ray hisses. “We’re gonna beat their asses.”

They find their first vamp-- the drummer of the band-- in one of the old offices. It's clearly been redecorated for vampire purposes, with the windows blacked out and a bunch of incongruous furniture haphazardly placed around the room to make it livable. This guy also seems to have added a matted shag rug to his pad. In the twenty-first century, coffins have gone out of style. Nowadays, most vampires prefer to spend their days snoozing on memory foam mattresses just like anyone else, and accordingly, the drummer vamp is passed out in a musty queen-sized bed, lying on top of the covers with a handful of magazines scattered around him. There’s a tiny T.V. in the corner of the room, playing a porno on mute. Ray and Gerard look at each other and make equally disgusted faces.

Gerard’s always lamented the fact that most modern vampires seem to have no flair for the dramatic whatsoever. If Gerard was a vamp, he’d swish around in floor-length velvet robes and spend hours languidly walking up spiral staircases. He’d buy a decaying mansion, wear a lot of silver rings. Stuff like that. The way he sees it, there’s no point in being undead if you’re not going to live up to the aesthetic requirements. He’d told Mikey this, once, and Mikey had understood exactly what he meant. Gerard is glad he’s got Mikey to talk about stuff like that. If he tried telling Ray or Frank about how it’s disappointing that he hasn’t ever staked a vamp to death in a satin-lined coffin, they’d just look at him like he was nuts. 

Ray nudges Gerard in the side, bringing him out of his thoughts, and jerks his head in the direction of the vamp. “You muffle him,” he whispers. The two of them tiptoe towards the bed, careful not to make the smallest sound and possibly wake the vamp. Gerard’s pretty sure they could take him regardless, if they absolutely had to, but he’d much prefer to have the element of surprise on his side. 

Gerard leans over the bed and carefully snags a spare pillow. Ray takes a stake out of his jacket. The two of them look at each other across the vamp, and Ray raises 3 fingers. Gerard nods and clutches the pillow reflexively. Ray begins to count down on his fingers, and as soon as he reaches the last one, Gerard shoves the pillow down over the vamp’s face, and Ray drives the stake through his heart. The vampire’s body immediately jerks, back arching and limbs flailing, but Ray grits his teeth and pushes the stake in with both hands. The vamp screeches, but with the pillow over his face it comes out no louder than a pop song leaking through the earbuds of someone sat next to you on the subway with their volume turned up high.

Suddenly the vamp’s limbs all freeze and drop down to the bed. Gerard keeps the pillow pressed down for a few seconds before Ray says quietly, “I think we’re good,” and yanks the stake out of the center of the vamp’s chest. Gerard cautiously lifts up the pillow.

The corpse’s eyes are blank and unseeing, like those of a dead fish on ice at the supermarket. His front is covered in thick, dark blood, spilling from both his mouth and nose as well as the ragged wound in his chest. Gerard wrinkles his nose and tosses the now-blood drenched pillow onto the floor. 

As they regard the body, it begins to disintegrate before their eyes. Gerard isn’t exactly sure why, but all vamp corpses break down within seconds of being killed. The dust kind of reeks of death, but at least they don’t have to worry about trying to dispose of any bodies after a hunt. Frank once dared Mikey to lick the dust for twenty bucks, and Mikey probably would have done it if Gerard hadn’t yelled at him to quit being an idiot. 

By now, the vampire’s face is completely eroded, and his torso is unrecognizable as anything that used to be humanoid. The two of them keep watching in silence, and soon, there is nothing left of the vampire but a mess of clay-colored, foul-smelling dust on top of the bed. 

Ray wipes his hands on the front of his jacket, making a face. “God, that stinks.”

Gerard holds out his hand for a fist bump. Ray obliges. “Hey, one down, three to go.”

“True,” Ray agrees. “Now let’s go see if we can find the rest of them.”

\--

Gerard is in the middle of examining some cracks on the wall when he feels something touch his shoulder. He whirls around, whipping his stake out of his pocket, only to see that it’s just Frank, with Mikey standing wide-eyed behind him. 

“What is it?” Gerard hisses. 

“We got the guitarist and the bassist,” Frank whispers. “Used up all the holy water, though.”

“Both of them? Already?” Ray says.

“They were in the same bed.” Frank smirks. “Two birds--”

“One stone,” Mikey finishes, and holds his hand up for Frank to high-five. Gerard tries not to laugh at the disgruntled look on Ray’s face. 

“Hey, hey,” Frank says, pointing at Ray like he’s just gotten an idea, “Losers have to buy the winners a Happy Meal.”

“No,” Ray says. “No! We’re not buying you a Happy Meal!”

“So you admit that you’ve already lost?” Frank says, and dances out of the way as Ray tries to smack him.

The four of them stick together from that point on. There’s no longer any advantage to splitting up. The only vamp left is Jonny, and Gerard is willing to bet that he’s the head of the pack, the one who turned all the others in the first place. That would most likely make him quite a bit older than the rest of them, and as such, more powerful. From what Gerard knows, vampires seem to do the inverse of aging: the longer they stick around, the stronger they get. Gerard doesn’t know if they even have a limit to how long they can live. The oldest vamp that their team ever encountered was about a hundred and fifty, had been living in Georgia since the Antebellum era, but Gerard’s heard tales of ones far, far more ancient. He doesn’t think Jonny’s _ancient_ , though. If he was, they probably wouldn’t have made it this far.

They duck into a couple of bathrooms and scope them out as quickly as possible, for fear of permanently losing their senses of smell. A sort of wet crunching sound comes from behind Gerard, immediately followed by Ray’s voice going, “Oh, yuck.” Gerard’s got no idea how long this place has been devoid of human life, but the roach population is positively booming. To Gerard’s left, Frank makes a gagging face. Frank hates anything with more than four legs. Gerard remembers one time they found a house centipede under one of the seats in the van and Frank practically dove out the window while they were doing eighty on the highway. 

After the toilets, they trek through a whole assload of rooms, ranging from something that might have once been a break room before the wall collapsed in, to a row of abandoned offices with all the filing cabinets dented and overturned, to one weird little closet-thing that was completely empty, save a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling-- that one really gives Gerard the heebie-jeebies. It’s cramped and damp and it barely fits all of them and it smells so fucking _awful_.

“Hey, what’s that green stuff on the wall?” Mikey asks, and Ray says, “Looks like some kind of mold,” and okay, that’s enough, Gerard is outta there. Bugs are one thing. Freaky poisonous molds that’ll release spores on you and get in your lungs and give you horrible diseases are another. 

“No vampires in here guys, come on, let’s move _out_ ,” Gerard says, hustling them all through the closet door and into the hall. Now they’ve checked out nearly every door in this hallway. The only part left is the very end of the hall, where a pair of dull gray double doors stand guard. They’re windowless, but open just a crack, allowing the tiniest glimpse of the darkness of the room beyond them.

“Well, those look fucking ominous,” Frank mumbles, and Gerard shushes him.

The four of them carefully make their way down the hall and huddle around the doors. Gerard wraps his hand around the handle of one of them and hesitates for just a second, looking back at the rest of the others. Mikey gives him a sort of _well-what-are-you-waiting-for_ look, so Gerard swallows once and yanks the door open.

The room is pitch black, and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust. He hears a muffled curse, some scrabbling behind him, Ray’s voice saying, “Hold on,” and then the lights flick on. Gerard turns to see Ray standing by a row of three switches on the wall, having just thrown one of the them.The single switch has only lit up one row of lights, and half of the room is still deep in shadow. From what Gerard can see, the room looks a lot like a deserted cafeteria. There are a bunch of tables pushed up against the wall, but Gerard really can’t make out much else.

“Turn the rest of the lights on,” Frank says. 

Ray flips another switch, and Gerard squints a little at the flash of light. Then, once his vision clears and he can peer further into the cafeteria, he freezes.

There’s a figure, a silhouette standing across the room with its back to them. It’s perfectly still; Gerard half-thinks it looks like a mannequin, but deep in his gut, he knows it is definitely, definitely not.

“Hey!” Ray barks, and throws the final switch, illuminating the rest of the room.

Slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, the figure turns around to face them. It’s Jonny. Of course it’s Jonny. There’s no one else it could be. His skin is as ashy as ever, his long black hair tangled around his face. He doesn’t really look that much different from when they saw him at the venue. But his eyes… his eyes are hellish. The sheer malevolence coming from Jonny’s gaze is enough to make the hairs on the back of Gerard’s neck prickle. His eyes seem to have darkened into dual pits of blackness, of tar, of pure hatred. His face seems twisted, too, somehow, stiff and tense and deeply, deeply _wrong_. As much as Gerard would hate to admit it, he is unnerved. 

“Hi guys,” Jonny says, sauntering across the floor towards them. His boots make a tapping sound on the linoleum that echoes in the empty room, and Gerard tenses up his shoulders in apprehension as Jonny creeps ever closer. Finally Jonny slows to a halt, standing only a couple yards ahead of them, his limbs swinging loosely and a creepy, hollow smile plastered across his face. “I see you’ve invited yourselves in.” 

“Hands up, motherfucker,” Frank snarls, brandishing his stake in one fist.

Jonny swings his head around to look at Frank with a put-upon expression on his face. “Hey, now, do you really want that?” he murmurs, his voice slipping into a strange sort of cadence. 

“Fuck off,” Frank says, looking Jonny dead in the eye. He takes one hand and yanks the crucifix around his neck out from under his shirt. “Don’t even bother trying the mind control on us, buddy. Won’t work as long as we all got our own personal Jesuses.” He drops the chain and takes a step forwards. “I think I remember telling you to get your hands up. Ray, you got the rope?”

“Right here,” Ray calls. “Got a whole lot of white oak stakes too. Just ran ‘em through the pencil sharpener.”

“Okay, okay,” Jonny says, slowly raising his hands above his head. “Okay, you got me.” 

And then suddenly, so fast that Gerard barely has time to blink, Jonny lunges forwards and grabs Mikey, who gives out a startled yell as his feet slip out from under him. “Stay back!” Jonny shouts, stumbling backwards with one arm tight around Mikey’s neck. “Stay the fuck back!” 

Gerard starts to rush forwards immediately, but Ray grabs him by the arm and yanks him backwards. “Gerard!” he says. “Hold on!” 

Gerard struggles uselessly for a moment before forcing himself to stand still, every muscle in his body tensed and aching to rush forward and make that vampire son of a bitch look like a thin slice of Swiss fucking cheese. 

“You did a pretty good job of taking out my flock,” Jonny calls. “I’d like to make you pay for that. I’d really fucking like to make you pay for that.” He glares at them for a second, and Gerard can feel the waves of malice radiating off him, practically tangible. “But I think that what I would like even more is to get out of here without one of your fancy toothpicks sticking through my chest.” He laughs. “I’m not stupid. I know when the odds are against me. So all I’m asking is for you to turn a blind eye.” Jonny flashes a smile then, baring his rows of needle-sharp fangs. “Let me escape. And in return, I won’t kill this one here-- what’s his name? Mikey?” He lowers his voice to a soft croon. “My life for Mikey’s. It’s a simple request.”

“Yeah fucking right,” Frank snarls, stepping forward, and Jonny lowers his fangs to Mikey’s neck threateningly, pressing hard enough to leave indentations, but not hard enough to break skin. Frank freezes.

“Ah ah ah!” Jonny says, holding up one finger while keeping the other arm wrapped tightly around Mikey’s chest. “Don’t think I won’t do it. I can rip his throat out like it’s nothing. And even if you kill me afterwards, there’ll be no bringing your boy Mikey back.” He spreads his mouth wide in a slow, empty smile, all his fangs on display. “What’s more important-- killing me, or saving him?” 

Gerard seethes in silence, his hands clenched into fists at his side. He can feel sweat running down his back, hear his heart beating out of his chest. All he wants is to rush over and rip Mikey out of that monster’s arms. He’s practically shaking with fury. 

“Drop the stakes,” Jonny says quietly. After an achingly long second, Gerard hears Ray and Frank’s stakes clatter to the floor, jarringly loud. He can’t seem to let go of his own. 

“Drop it,” Jonny repeats sharply, a warning clear in his tone. Gerard can’t make himself unclench his fist. He stares at Jonny with impotent rage. 

“Alright,” Jonny says softly. “Be stubborn, then.” He presses his nose into Mikey’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Gerard can see the whiteness of Mikey’s knuckles from gripping Jonny’s forearm. “I could kill him right now,” Jonny whispers. “Drain every drop of blood from his veins.” He opens his eyes and looks straight at Gerard. “All it would take is one little bite.”

Gerard sees red. Ripping himself from Ray’s grasp, he charges and slams into Jonny, tackling him bodily to the ground and making him let go of Mikey in his shock. Jonny lets out a surprised noise and tries to roll over, but Gerard swings a leg over his hips and pins him in place. Jonny writhes under him, digging his sharp nails into Gerard’s arm and trying to rip him off, but Gerard makes a fist and punches Jonny right in the face, knocking his head against the ground. Jonny screeches and Gerard punches him a second time, ignoring the pain throbbing in his knuckles. Then he sees the stake on the floor where he dropped it during his tackle, and snatches it up, raising it high over his head. 

“Bite this,” Gerard spits. Eyes wide, Jonny opens his mouth to make one last scream, and Gerard drives the stake through the bastard’s rotten heart. 

Jonny thrashes and writhes between Gerard’s knees, but Gerard holds tight to the stake and pushes it even deeper, as far as he can. He holds it while Jonny screeches, an awful, inhuman sound that pierces Gerard’s eardrums and makes his spine rattle, and he holds it while Jonny begins to spit up blood, dark and cold, splattering over Gerard’s hands, and he holds it while Jonny’s movements slow, until his spidery hands finally release their grip on Gerard’s arms and fall limply to the ground. 

Gerard sits there for a moment, chest heaving, and then he feels two pairs of hands on his shoulders, gently tugging him to his feet. Gerard lets Frank and Ray pull him up, and as soon as he can stand steady, he turns and throws his arms around Mikey, squeezing him tight into his chest. Mikey makes a choked sound in his throat and buries his face in Gerard’s shoulder. They stand like that for a couple seconds, and then Gerard steps back and pats Mikey on the face.

“You’re good, right?” he asks worriedly. 

“Fine. You got blood all over my shirt,” Mikey says.

Gerard looks down at his own bloodstained front, then back at Mikey’s. “Whoops.”

“This is never coming out in the wash,” Mikey laments, and Frank rolls his eyes. 

“He saved your life, stupid, you’re complaining about your Morrissey t-shirt?” 

“Guys,” Ray says, “Will you shut the hell up?”

Frank sticks his tongue out at Ray, and then the four of them watch in silence as Jonny’s body slowly begins to break down. First his nose crumbles away, and then his fingers. His arms and legs disintegrate like a sandcastle when it’s knocked over. His torso follows. Eventually all that is left is a puddle of sticky blood, a vaguely man-shaped pile of brownish dust, and a few stray strands of long dark hair. 

“Ugh,” Gerard says, wrinkling his nose. 

“You know,” Ray comments, “He kinda looked like you. Flowing black hair, heavy eyeliner and all.”

“Damn, how’s it feel to take out your evil twin?” Frank snickers.

“Aw, shut up.” Gerard scowls and wipes a fleck of blood off his chin. 

“Hey!” Mikey says suddenly. “You killed Jonny and Eric!”

“No kidding,” Gerard replies, flicking a bit of vampire dust off his sleeve.

“No, I mean, we got two vamps, but you guys got two vamps, too-- it’s a tie!” 

“Well, shit,” Frank says. “Guess we’ll have to split the Happy Meal four ways.”


	4. iv

“Shotgun!” Frank shouts, diving into the front seat. 

“What are we, thirteen?” Gerard grumbles, folding himself into the backseat next to Mikey. 

“No bickering.” Ray adjusts the rearview mirror. “So help me, I will turn this car around.”

Mikey laughs and puts his head on Gerard’s shoulder. “Are we there yet?”

“Ha, ha.” Ray turns the key in the ignition, and they roll out of the parking lot and onto the highway. 

“Oh, hey!” Frank squirms around in his seat, pulling a tape out of his back pocket. “Soundtrack.” He pops the tape into the cassette player, and soon an oddly familiar guitar riff wobbles through the speakers, as does an even more familiar raspy voice. 

“Frank!” Ray says. “You stole that from my bag?”

“Maybe,” Frank giggles, and Ray takes one hand off the wheel to slap at him. 

“You don't think that's a little sick?” Gerard asks. “I mean, we just murdered all of those guys in cold blood.”

“Nah,” Frank says. “I'm honoring their memory.” Gerard snorts. 

“You’re a sick puppy, Frank,” Mikey yawns, and settles his head on Gerard’s shoulder. With one eye cracked open, he watches the trees and buildings streak past through the window, their features all merging together into a grey blur. 

“Hey!” Frank says suddenly, startling Mikey so his head slips off Gerard’s shoulder. “Hey, McDonald’s!”

“What about it?” Ray says, keeping his eyes on the road. 

“Happy Meal! Remember? C’mon, we’ll let you have the toy!”

“No!”

Mikey puts his head back on Gerard’s shoulder. Ray and Frank’s bickering continues, but it’s mostly drowned out by the music from the stereo. Gerard reaches his hand up and brushes some hair out of Mikey’s face, tucking it behind his ear. Mikey closes his eyes. 

The thrum of the highway makes a pretty piss-poor lullaby, and Mikey’s ass is starting to ache in that specific way that asses do from slouching in car seats for extended periods of time, and the soles of his sneakers are starting to peel off, and his jeans still smell like vampire dust because they didn’t have the chance to stop at a laundromat, and Mikey has more bruises on his body than he cares to count or even think about, but hey. The sun is shining. Gerard is gently stroking Mikey’s forehead with his hand, just like their mom used to do when they were kids. 

After a while, Mikey cracks an eye open one more time and peers up. Gerard doesn’t notice; he’s staring out the window, watching the cars zoom by. In the passenger seat, Frank’s got his feet up on the dashboard, tapping his skinny fingers absentmindedly on his thigh. Ray is doing the same with his hands on the steering wheel, the two of them both matching the beat of the song on the stereo. 

Then Ray looks up and catches Mikey’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He raises his eyebrows. Mikey blinks slowly back at him. Ray smiles quickly before returning his eyes to the road, and Mikey lets his eyelids droop shut again. 

All things considered, it’s not so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it! the absolute ending of this little fic of mine! it's not the best or the longest fic, but i am glad that i wrote it. thank you all for reading my story, and the most special thanks of all to mac for inspiring me and also for being my best friend.


End file.
